


That's All

by Mahoroba



Series: Avengers For Dinner [6]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Banner is charming, F/M, Friendship, Logan Howlett is secretly a sweetheart, Love Triangle, Mutant Reader, Reader is Southern, Reader is a Dancer, Reader is a mutant, Southern Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-21 23:09:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8263906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahoroba/pseuds/Mahoroba
Summary: Xavier's is getting ready for a back to school dance - which  leaves you with limited Avengers time. Which is somewhat okay with you, considering the whole deal between you, Clint, and Steve. But Dr. McCoy apparently has other things in mind.





	1. Just as I thought it was goin' alright

Triple step. Rock step. One two triple step. Left crosses over right, arms hold you out, pull you back in.  
****

Admittedly, it was easier to jitterbug with someone actually there, but right now, you were trying to work out the best way to teach about 50 or so kids the basic steps. And, maybe (though you wouldn’t admit it out  loud) you were trying to work out what was going on in your head.

This whole thing with Steve and Clint wasn’t sustainable. 

You weren’t happy that the few times you saw Clint, he acted like the potential kiss wasn't a thing. That there weren’t gulfs of jealously and half-assed admitted feelings there. You weren’t happy that Steve was being Steve and that meant being a stellar human being – he was giving your space and never so much hinted again at the movie night since you sort of let that fall by the wayside.

You were the most unhappy with yourself.

Your powers had made you flighty – that, you knew from the get-go. You just hadn’t realized how flighty until now. You were doing everything to deflect how you felt, including dismissing the feelings of those around you. Classic you. But you never admitted, even hinted, at being anything close to perfect. The only thing that remotely consoled you now was that you'd shown some willpower, and actually hadn't seen either man in a few weeks - close to a month, really. You half-heartedly answered Clint's occasional texts, and there had been no real reason to go by the Tower. After the afternoon with Natasha, you'd taken what she'd shown you and started practicing at the gym. Wonder of all wonders, it'd caught Logan's attention, and the gruff man occasionally dropped by to give you a few pointers. And, well, sometimes you practiced with Betsy Braddock when she dropped in. 

Too caught up in your thoughts, you took the rock step back too hard, and stumbled. And, in an uncharacteristic show of absolute fury, you snarled, and just barely resisted the urge to throw one of your discarded shoes across the room. You were dancing barefoot in the deserted gym at Xavier’s. Though it was nowhere near as nice as the gym / studio at the Tower, you weren’t about to head that way.

“Is this a bad time?”

You flushed, embarrassed at being caught acting out. You chuckled; shook your head in the negative. “Not at all, Hank.”

For a man of such size, it still amazed you at how delicately, quietly, and downright timidly Hank McCoy could move. He seemed to slink into the gym, a briefcase clasped in one massive hand.

“Might I suggest a break? It always helps me to give the gray matter a generous rest, or, more apropos in this case, give those phalanges a time out.” He stepped into the gym now, straightening himself out. One thing you had to give to Hank was his impeccable style – even over his massive blue-furred form. He was in an exquisitely tailored suit – either he was coming or going somewhere important. Typical for him, really, even more so with school starting. 

You smiled, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

“Well, acting like my hissy fit didn’t just happen and I am a responsible adult – what can I do for you? I’d hug you, but I don’t want to mess up your suit,” and you pointed to the large sweaty circles under your armpits.

Hank’s smile was startling white against the blue of him. “Since you’ve gained a reputation as our resident go to to Avengers Tower, I thought that I would have you bring over these files for Dr. Banner. I’d do  it myself, but I’ve got to catch this flight – and knowing Dr. Banner, I’m sure he would benefit from a culinary confection from our very own chef extraordinaire!” Hank reached into his briefcase, held out a manila folder.

“Hank, you sly old fox you,” you grinned, and lightly elbowed him in his side. Hank’s smile was ever ebullient. With anyone else, you might have been annoyed at the prospect, but Hank meant well –he usually always did-, and you knew he was looking out for his friend. In the few times you’d actually seen Banner, it never seemed like the man got enough sleep, and you’d never actually seen him eat since that one time you brought the pie over – months ago.

Besides, maybe it was time to actually go to the Tower. Get some things cleared out. Explain that you were attracted to both men, but didn’t know how to handle it. Because, being honest, there was a lot to like about Clint. There was a lot to like about Steve. And having both didn’t seem like much of an option.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you said, taking the folder from Hank. “I can’t say I’ve spent a lot of time around Dr. Banner.”

“He’s a charming fellow – don’t let the occasional slip of green fool you,” Hank gave you a knowing smile, and in the process of closing his briefcase, happened to glance at his watch. “My stars and garters; I’ve got to be going! Do tell me how things go, dear girl!” He gave you a nod, and made a quick exit from the gym, muttering to himself all along, reminding you of the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland.

 

++++++++

 

You’d decided on something simple, but filling, for Dr. Banner. And, of course, it wasn’t a dinner without a dessert to go with it. So, freshly showered and arms loaded down with food, you managed to slip into the Tower, the manila folder perched on top of it all. You didn’t run into anyone in the foyer, and now, a few steps away from the lab, all seemed quiet. JARVIS had assured you that’s where Banner was, but now, as you rounded another corner in this meandering hallway, you weren’t so sure.

 

“Sugarbee! Long time no see. Whatcha got there?” Stark’s voice came from your immediate right, and you had to stop yourself from jumping back, startled.

 

“Stuff from Dr. McCoy for Dr. Banner,” you sniffed, trying to ignore the cat that ate the canary grin on his face. Though Tony seemed to be above all kinds of drama (as he created enough of his own), he seemed to be just itching to ask you what was going on. Or at least that’s how you were taking it. It was entirely possible that Tony was just being Tony and you were a tad hyper sensitive to what all was going on. You took in a deep breath, counted, and grumbled your response. 

“Could you not? You’re gonna make me drop this.”

“Did you bring enough for everyone?"

“Nope – just for Dr. Banner.” You took a certain amount of nasty glee in denying Tony.

Tony’s grin faltered for a fraction of a second, before it grew. “Playing favorites now, are we? Feathers and Spangles will be so hurt.” He leaned against the wall in front of you, effectively blocking your path. 

“Hardly,” you raised an eyebrow. “Dr. McCoy asked me specifically to whip something up for Dr. Banner. Considering that I haven’t seen the good doctor any other time I’ve come over, I thought it’d only be fair.”

Tony peered at you – trying to suss out if you weren’t telling him something, you were sure. He wasn’t close to serious, not yet, but you could tell that an extended amount of time with Tony with all of this Clint vs. Steve in the air was going to end up with you being teased mercilessly, and you weren’t really in the mood for that. You knew the quickest way to shut him down was not to say anything, and so all you did was smile. After a few awkward moments in the hallway, though, you decided to be charitable and tossed him a verbal lifeline. “You trying to tell me that you miss me, Stark?”

 “What can I say – I’ve gotten used to your food.” He rose to the bait gloriously. He leaned forward, taking an exaggerated sniff of the sealed Tupperware. “And your Southern sass. And the fact that you and your hayseed friends can throw a hell of a shindig. Please tell me you do parties.”

“You weren’t supposed to know about that.” You were at ease now, the conversation headed in a direction that you could handle.

“Oh, but I do, and it was magnificent. Do you think I should set something up like that for the Avengers? Can’t be a potluck though – pretty sure Natasha burns water.”

“If you don’t get out of my way before this food gets cold, I’m going to tell her you said that.”

“Sugarbee, you wound me,” but he stepped out of your way, with a mild flourish. “Dr. Banner awaits, m’lady. Also, why haven’t you been around as much? Too much man drama?”

Well, shit.

“In case you haven’t noticed, the school year started, and I do actually teach. We’ve got a dance coming up here in a few weeks that has kept me extra busy.”

Tony’s dark eyes glittered in a way that made your mouth dry. Sheer, unadulterated joy was in his eyes. “A high school dance? Priceless.” 

You flushed a little, hardly able to keep the smile on your face from stretching into the goofy. So that was what Stark looked like when he was being charming. “The kids want a back to school dance, like homecoming. Wanted to go with a 1940s style. Keeps me pretty busy with the regular classes and tutorials and extra credit.” 

Now it was your turn to lean against the wall, adjusting the Tupperware in your hands. “The teachers all got together and decided that it’d be a great opportunity to have the kids earn extra credit by being as historically accurate as possible. So now I’ve got to arrange a ton of classes on jitterbugging and the Lindy Hop and just about everything else.” 

The dance idea was genius - and thought up by the two resident chatterboxes, Kitty Pryde and Jubilee. The two of them had practically dropped to their knees in front of you, begging for you to help them out with the dances. Apparently the whole faculty was in on it - from Scott to Ororo; even, inexplicably, Logan. Go figure. But, of course you’d agreed, thinking about coordinating your own outfit and how fun it’d be to go all out swing dancing. Not to brag, but you were no slouch when it came to swing.

It had been a bit of a logistical nightmare, but it also meant less time at home, and less time for Clint to just drop by and act like…well, Clint. Of course it did also kick the door wide open for Steve Rogers angst, but enough erstwhile students stepping on your toes for the next few weeks was enough to bring back your train of thought whenever it wandered to him.

“I would pay good money to see you jitterbug as wasted as you were that one night you came over and decided to redecorate with vomit.”

The grin on your face froze hard. “You just might get your wish,” you said, through slightly gritted teeth. “If you were invited. Food’s gettin’ cold.”

“Ouch. But don’t think I’m above crashing a high school party.” He gave you a rakish grin. “I gotta run anyway. Stuff to improve, worlds to save. Next time you come by, bring enough for everyone,” and he was off down the hall, to who knows where. As you watched him leave, you partially wondered if he purposefully left to leave you and Dr. Banner alone. Which was…odd. They were, after all, the Science Brothers.

“Hank told me you were coming,” and for the second time that day, you nearly dropped everything in your hands, startled. Dr. Bruce Banner stood in the lab doorway, idly wiping his glasses off on the edge of his dark purple shirt. He looked positively tousled and small. “But he didn’t tell me you were bringing food,” and the shiest of smiles crossed his face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guyssss....
> 
> I haven't forgotten about this. Promise. I might make the sections shorter so I can actually get this fic done...Thanks to everyone that's still reading!


	2. I find out I'm wrong when I thought I was right

Inside of the lab, the environment was surprisingly calm. With the bluster that was Tony Stark, you were expecting it to be a massive collection of chaos – loud noises and flashing lights and consistent beeping. True, it did look like a tornado hit it, but it was much quieter than you expected it to be. 

 

Bruce methodically cleaned off a portion of his desk, occasionally studying a paper before adding it to a specific pile. He hadn’t allowed you to carry all of the tupperware into the lab yourself – he’d instantly taken the top two and manila folder from you.

 

“You didn’t have to do that. This.” He gestured to the tupperwares. His shy smile hadn’t left – floating on another emotion that you couldn’t quite discern from his face.

 

“Well, I wish I could say it was entirely altruistic, but Hank asked me especially. And,” you pulled up a chair next to Bruce’s desk, “I wasn’t sure if you were actually getting any of the leftovers any time that I came over and cooked.”

 

He eased himself into his chair, folding in on himself. He’d only made eye contact with you twice – which bothered you. It was a look, a behavior, you’d seen far too often on the newer kids to the school. And, without really thinking about it, you pulled your chair closer, so that you were about three inches apart. He looked up at you, quickly, then back to the papers.

 

“Well, let’s see what Dr. McCoy brought over,” and he reached for the manila folder. You stopped him by putting your hand over his. He flinched. You kept your hand on his.

 

“Later. Have you even eaten today?” If he was hesitant to meet your gaze before, he now kept it locked on the papers in front of him. 

 

To lighten the mood a bit, you continued: “Don’t you know it’s one of the worst insults you can inflict on a Southern gal if you refuse her cooking?” 

 

You let your hand slip away. You brought the tupperwares forward, scooting papers out of the way – careful to keep it in whatever unknown order that Bruce had them in. “I wasn’t entirely sure what you’d like, and some stuff is honestly just better right out the pan or oven than it is in a Tupperware.” You chuckled, a little nervously. You were so used to your cooking always making a hit that you weren’t sure how to deal if Bruce didn’t like what you made. “Hank also didn’t tell me if you had any favorites, so, disclaimer: if you don’t like what I made, you take it up with him.”

 

Finally, you lifted the lid off of one of the tupperwares. Fragrant steam curled out, and you couldn’t help but to take a big inhale yourself. “Worse case scenario, I will totally eat all of this myself. Just so you know.”

 

Though you figured Bruce Banner was never quite the type that carried himself tall and proud, the slump in his shoulders became less pronounced at your words. He leaned over the food now, mimicking your inhale.

 

“Well, whatever it is, it smells delicious –“ his words were punctuated by a low rumble from his stomach, and he chuckled. “I can’t honestly remember the last time I ate. I think it was whenever Tony ordered that.” He pointed to a half-opened pizza box with a decidedly wizened slice remaining. You tried to repress your shudder, not wanting to know how long **that** had been there.

 

“I’m surprised it hasn’t grown legs and just upped and walked off. And this is hoppin’ john, by the way. Hoppin’ John, cornbread, and a slice of sweet potato pie.” You’d made the pie a few days earlier for the folks at the dance studio, and had brought the last, massive slice for him.

 

“Hopping John.” He enunciated the words carefully, as if the title of the dish was the name of a new life form. “I can’t say that I’ve had it before. Or heard of it.” He leaned forward; caught himself. Stood abruptly. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of any utensils…I know we’ve got to have some around here, somewhere.”

 

“Gotcha covered.” You handed him a fork, wrapped in a paper towel. “Stopped by the kitchen on my way. Now, as far as drinks go, I wasn’t that clever.”

 

The smile on his face was sheepish and grateful. “I’ll get us some.”

 

______

 

 

Eating with Dr. Banner was a quiet affair. Not awkward quiet; just quiet. Without music, the only sound in the lab was the ambient noise of machinery running. 

 

“So, what’s in this?” he asked, scraping a bit to the side of the tupperware he was working on.

 

“Black eyed peas, rice - garlic, onion, bell pepper. I think just about everyone back home makes theirs a little differently. Usually make it for New Year’s day, though.”

 

He chewed, swallowed - looked at you with his heavy brows raised. “Why’s that?”

 

“Something about black eyed peas and greens bringing good luck and money in the New Year,” you replied, smiling. You hadn’t thought about the tradition in ages. With the mansion being a melting pot of culture, usually desperately trying to press itself into what was ‘normal’ - holidays were a culinary free for all. “I don’t know. It just seemed appropriate for you.” 

 

He stopped entirely now, looking at you. His expression was wary.

 

_Shit._

 

“I didn’t mean that you were BAD luck, though! I just, it was just this gut feeling. I heard you spent time in India, so I thought, ‘Oh, he probably got used to eating vegetarian food,’ and there isn’t a whole lot in Southern cooking that goes without meat, and for some reason this was the first thing I thought about.”

 

He was still tense - you could tell, even without the use of your powers-, but he also seemed on edge, as if he was waiting for you to say something else. Figuring in for a penny, in for a pound, you continued, but it was hard trying to describe the gut feeling that you’d had about this.

 

“It just seemed to fit,” you said again, with a haphazard shrug of your shoulders. “I dunno what else to tell you. Do you not like it? You’re not going to hurt my feelings if you do.”

 

And that was a lie. Of course you’d be hurt. But, to be fair, you could blame it on Dr. McCoy.

 

Now it was his turn to look flustered. He quickly shook his head. “No, not at all. It’s really good, actually,” he said. “It’s just…it’s been a while I think I’ve had anyone cook for me. And there’s not a lot of this up here. It’s interesting, you know,” and he turned over a few peas with his fork. “Food with folklore behind it. It says a lot about us as people.”

 

“One of the many things I miss about being at home,” you said, around a mouthful of cornbread. “But, you know, I try to take my traditions with me. It’s important. Family. History,” and you gestured to him with a piece of cornbread. He nodded thoughtfully.

 

When you opened up the last tupperware and showed him the massive slice of pie, his smile made you forget that not that long ago, you’d been agonizing about this whole Clint and Steve thing. He was too much of a gentleman (apparently), to accept that no, you really didn’t want any pie, and, in his own shy, non-combative way, insisted all the more you tried to refuse. So, you ended up sharing the pie with him, still in that comfortable quiet between them.

 

When the pie was reduced to a pile of crumbs and you were in the process of packing up, he spoke.

 

“You know, Y/N, I never got around to asking you what your powers were.” His voice was distracted; he’d gotten into the manilla envelop and was scanning its contents, his gaze darting back to your face momentarily.

 

“Pretty simple stuff. Or at least I think so.” And you told him, nearly repeating word for word what you’d told Natasha weeks earlier. He occasionally nodded, never looking up from the files in his hand.“I thought all of you knew all of this already, though,” you said, confused. 

 

The response he gave was ambiguous, and you just smiled. You’d been around enough scientists not to take it the wrong way that he hadn’t answered. As you balanced the last empty tupperware in your hands, you spoke a little louder.

 

“Did you get enough to eat, Dr. Banner?”

 

“Hm? Oh!” He looked up, and his cheeks colored as he saw the empty containers in your hands. “Y/N, I’m sorry, that was terribly rude of me - “ 

 

“No harm, no foul, Dr. Banner,” and you gave him a reassuring smile.

 

“ ‘Bruce’ is fine,” he said, setting the papers down. But not without taking one last glance. “Can I at least help you carry things down?”

 

“Nah, I’m square,” you said, walking towards the door. “You know,” you stopped, leaning against the doorframe, “I think this was one of the most pleasant dining experiences I’ve had in a while. You’re wonderful company, Bruce.”

 

He looked incredulous.

 

“But we didn’t talk.”

 

“Didn’t have to. You’re a calming person to be around. I was actually really nervous,” you looked down at the toes of your beat up tennis shoes. “I didn’t know if you’d like the food, and I don’t really know much about you other than….you know.” You bunched up your shoulders, mimicking getting larger. 

 

He was quiet. “…A lot of people seem to only focus on The Other Guy.” The bitterness in his voice was sharp.

 

“Hun, I live with people who could imagine you out of existence. A giant green rage monster isn’t that bad.” And that was the honest to God truth. You still didn’t have a good read on Emma - the woman made you flat out nervous. “But I’d be lying if I wasn’t afraid of sitting down with you like this.”

 

Before his expression could cross over into defeated resignation, you spoke again - “Because you are crazy stupid smart, and I am nowhere near as on the ball as Hank or Tony. And I didn’t think  I could be like, ‘How about that weather?!’ I mean, come on. Super genius man.” You waved at him. “Dance instructor and like, part time teacher. Not a lot of overlap.”

 

Incredulity was back on his face, before it fell into a smile, a smile that was so close to a laugh that you leaned forward a bit, hoping to coax it out.

 

“I can talk about non-science things,” he said, his smile growing wider. Well, it wasn’t quite a laugh, but you’d still take it. 

 

“Oh yeah? I’ll believe it when I see it. Next time?” It was spoken as a question, but you knew damn well that you wanted more time with Bruce like this. His quiet was comforting - something that you craved. 

 

He seemed to pick up on the unspoken implication that there was indeed to be a next time, and that he couldn’t outright refuse. And by the way he smiled back at you, you knew he liked the idea. 

 

“Sounds good. Maybe I can make something.”

 

“As long as you don’t bring that pizza back to life, I think that’s an excellent idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! (ish).
> 
> My apologies for the shorter section - I'm not really sure if I captured Bruce's personality. He's a hard one to write - plus, you know, good to take a break from all of that angst. Who will the Reader choose? IT IS A MYSTERY. But we are heading round the bend for this particular part of the story. We've still a few more Avengers (did someone say Thor?) - but the dance, y'all. The dance is going to be the key to all of this. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone that's still reading - I do appreciate it. It can get super hard to find the motivation to keep working on this, but there's still something of a story to be told. Really!


End file.
